


Of Inkstains and Daggers

by sebooty



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Canon-Typical Violence, Dumping ground for tumblr drabbles and fills, Feels fucking galore, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Multi, Smut, all of it gay, some featuring the unholy trinity of ass-eating
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-12
Updated: 2015-07-29
Packaged: 2018-03-30 04:54:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3923686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sebooty/pseuds/sebooty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Various fills I have written on tumblr via request, all centering around UtaKane, Shuuneki, and Tsutakane.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Case of Reluctance - Utakane

Kaneki, to Uta, falls open like a well-read book with a tattered spine that displays lines of words he knows in their entirety.

He knows Kaneki’s heart as well as he could hope to know his own, granting him the insight so many others lack. With Every seemingly insignificant gesture the half-ghoul makes, Uta can see the thoughts behind it bleed through Kaneki’s pores and elaborately etch themselves in bold lettering across his face. 

Their relationship is such that it’s second nature to Uta to see through the outward appearance and delve into the wealth of repressed desires and stale emotions that lurks beneath his nervous temperament.  Uta knows Kaneki, has mapped out every curve and dip of him both physically and mentally. He even knows the newer, harder Kaneki though he’s slightly tougher to get a handle on. (Change of appearance and a stronger mental fortitude, however, doesn’t alter the soul and eventually Uta figures it all out.)

Naturally, he notices the uncomfortable shift in Kaneki’s presence as they slowly reintegrate into each other’s lives after the Aogiri/Jason fiasco. 

At first, the mask maker assumes it’s residual anxiety from the time spent apart and in indefinable agony that only a rare few survive. He’s certain it’s the problem until he catches the tinge of frustrated longing casting shadows in slate eyes. 

The way he watches Kaneki’s hands ball into fists whenever he first walks through the door of the studio coupled with the gnashing together of his jaw whenever Uta gets too close lends an idea to what’s really eating at him, leaving a bemused though melancholy tone reverberating in his chest. 

Kaneki misses him.  

More specifically, Kaneki misses the  _feel_  of him.

Upon this realisation, Uta immediately sets aside the half finished mask in his hands and wraps his arms around the teen. He holds Kaneki against him, his hands tracing the grooves in Kaneki’s spine through his shirt and dipping far enough down to entice the sensitive placement of kakuhou. 

The whispered ’thank you' that’s as quiet as an exhale wouldn’t have been heard if they weren’t pressed quite so desperately to each other, Uta thinks.


	2. Booze, Beds, and Bathrooms - Utakane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Human AU

There’s grit coating his tongue and the foul taste of last night’s liquor stale on his breath, his head is fucking pounding, and he’s naked in a bed that is definitely not his. So far, Kaneki thinks his day is going superbly well, hopes it’ll get even better when he actually moves and gets out of this stranger’s bed and home.

It does. 

Get better, that is.

The moment his eyes open and meet the purely unnecessary and frankly rude glare of the morning sun, reminding him tenfold why mornings suck as a general rule, his stomach lurches and he’s suddenly bent over a toilet, completely nude.

The air is cold on his ass and, more importantly, his flushed face and helps to tame the rage in his stomach. He throws up one more time and wonders if his liver just gave up on processing all that ale and then the sake after that which seemed like a really good idea but obviously wasn’t. His mouth feels and tastes worse now than it did ten minutes ago and he’s really got to pee, but moving is problematic. It makes him feel like he’s died and been brought back, his limbs heavy and uncooperative, bordering painful.

He’s sure of two things, sitting on the chilly tile of some random man’s bathroom, and those are that he hates Ayato for even talking him into going out – he likes books over clubs for a reason, this situation being a great fucking example – and also that the sex the night before had been phenomenal. Five stars, two thumbs way up, ten out of ten rating. He doesn’t actually remember the specifics but the story his body tells is clear in the smattering of puffy scratch marks and purpling bruises that parade across his otherwise blemish free skin, trailing the definition in his collar and the slope of his neck and throat. That and well, his ass hurts.

Kaneki hears the tell-tale signs of waking up in the room over, hears a soft and masculine huff that turns into a groan of agony that makes him twinge in sympathy. Hangovers are a cruel bitch created by the most evil of beings; bad decisions.

Rationally, he thinks that maybe the better way of re-introducing himself to this man would probably not be hugging his toilet without a single stitch of clothing and the remnants of yesterday’s food and last night’s mistakes swirling in the water of the toilet bowl. Still, this hasn’t exactly been the best of days in way of luck as Kaneki hadn’t really intended to stay long enough to once again meet – what the hell was his name? Something with a u, maybe. It isn’t much to go on though and his head really does hurt so he gives up trying to sift through alcohol soaked memories.

U-whoever is up and walking around now, Kaneki can tell by the faint sound of feet shuffling along worn hardwood flooring. Kaneki manages to at least lift his head up and flush the goddamn toilet before the fateful meeting transpires.

It’s a matter of seven seconds by Kaneki’s count before he sees feet shuffle into his downcast line of sight. His eyes travel lazily, slowly up and rake over every bit of the man standing in front him. He’s inked up to a large degree, he notes with interest, and there’s an array of piercings decorating a handsome face that, on one side, is framed by the purest black hair kaneki’s seen while the other side is shorn away and he can make out the sharp angle of a cheekbone that’s slightly inflamed. The sight of him tugs at Kaneki’s unreliable memory, a series of incomplete images that haven’t been fully developed.

“Oh.” It’s said on a breath, pushed out of lungs and spread through the air between them. He doesn’t sound surprised, which is good in Kaneki’s opinion, but there’s nothing else all that detectable in one syllable.

The man disappears from the doorway and is back before Kaneki can even truly wonder where he’s rushed off to with what are very much Kaneki’s pants. He tosses them to Kaneki and they’re tugged up his slender legs appreciatively, granting him the peace of mind that comes with covering up one’s ass and privates. There isn’t anything else said between them while Kaneki finally finds his way to his feet and navigates how to use legs again, complete with pins and needles making him want to simultaneously laugh and slam his face into a wall.

He’s given a spare toothbrush and accepts it with a mumbled thanks before setting to the gruelling challenge of fending off the dragon breath of a morning after. Uta, is the man’s name, Kaneki learned before the other ducked out with the claim of seriously needing coffee if they were going to actually converse. Kaneki shrugged, took the offered dental instrument, and watched Uta’s bum sway on his way out.

With his teeth clean and tongue no longer fuzzy, Kaneki sets out to the kitchen after stopping to grab his shirt from the night before. He’s running his hands through his hair, trying to make more sense of the white mess it’s become when he finds Uta again. He’s standing in the kitchen, facing the sink and looking out the window with a much more serene look than the wide-eyed half asleep and hungover as hell expression he wore earlier. He’s sipping what looks and smells like the divine holiness called coffee and it makes Kaneki’s mouth water, his stomach giving a pitiful gurgle.

The unfortunate sound catches Uta’s attention and he turns to look at Kaneki for a moment before he hands him another cup, their fingers connecting over the heated ceramic with a charge. He thanks him again, lifting the cup to inhale the rich and earthy scent before taking his first drink. It’s wonderful, not like what they make at the coffee shop Kaneki works in, but good in a way that Kaneki thinks is probably unique to Uta. He may not know much, if anything, about the quiet man but he could tell that he had his own way of doing things.

Again, they don’t say much aside from the formalities. It’s odd for Kaneki, who usually feels the need to fill the silence, but he’s honestly still too fucked up from the night before to chance propriety and besides, having a drunken one-off with an unknown man isn’t entirely proper to begin with. All in all, Kaneki thinks they’re both giving each other a pass.

His eyes turn to the left to peer at Uta, his curiosity beginning to rear its head again now that his temples have stopped throbbing with the help of wondrous caffeine. He’s hard to read, something Kaneki hasn’t had much issue with in his life and finds he doesn’t dislike it as much as he might have assumed. Uta’s something, someone, Kaneki’s never been faced with; attractive and a mystery.

It’s almost a shame that Kaneki has a weakness for such things, apparently.

“Um,” he starts and pauses to clear his throat and rid himself of any awkward tension. This situation could get a lot more disastrous, after all. He doesn’t even know what he wants to say or what he thinks he’s trying to achieve by saying anything in the first place, but his mouth has seemingly supplied him with a number of things to thoughtlessly talk about. “You have a lot of interesting pieces on display. Are you an artist or something?” Kaneki can’t fathom when he took the time to look around the dingy flat but sure enough, there’s a variety of colour filled canvases ranging in size littering the walls and even on a stand in the corner of the den and along those are what Kaneki thinks might be masks each as different from the next.

Uta shifts next to him and Kaneki’s eyes are glued to the way the ink of his skin looks fluid as the muscles beneath roll and manoeuvre around joint and bone. It’s endlessly captivating in a way he can’t explain. “My shop is downstairs, we passed through last night but your mind was on other things.” Uta’s voice is smooth and low and flows over every word like a caress. “I craft masks and, on occasion, supply customers with more specific needs.”

The answer seems a bit vague and the first part has a slight plume of red highlighting Kaneki’s cheeks to hear about their endeavours so carelessly and casually, like this is an occasion that presents itself daily. And maybe it did, Kaneki doesn’t know. He accepts it for what it is, biting back the snippy retort that rises to his mouth – Ayato’s influence over him has no bounds it would seem – and takes another drink of his coffee. “Sounds more interesting than working at a coffee house and being an undetermined college student,” he remarks, side-eyeing Uta to see if he can catch a glimpse of reaction at being made aware of the obvious gap in their age. Kaneki doesn’t exactly care and Uta really isn’t that much older from the looks of things, but any sort of indication of what Uta thinks about it might help quell the knowledge thirsty wasps in his stomach.

To his disappointment, Uta’s apparently very talented with masks indeed because there isn’t a trace of reaction to be found when he says, “It makes me happy, at the very least.”

Uta asks if he’s hungry in the next minute and Kaneki really can’t refuse the temptation of food and lets Uta make them both breakfast.  It's a simple meal of rice and toast but it’s more than enough to help curb Kaneki’s hangover when paired with the coffee and Uta’s not at all unpleasant company so he doesn’t complain, but thanks Uta and clears the table when they’re finished.

Kaneki’s drying off the last plate when arms are suddenly wrapping around his waist and playful hands and artist’s fingers are slipping under his shirt and mapping nonsensical lines in his skin. Warm breath is at his neck, tickling the shell of his ear as Uta leans in and plants a teasing kiss along his pulse point. “Kaneki-kun, do you want to have a shower with me?” He asks, boldly swiping his hand lower on Kaneki and furthering the gathering frenzy between them.

With a nod, Kaneki allows Uta to pull him to the bathroom and then lets him tug him out of his clothes for the second time.


	3. What's In A Name? - Shuuneki

The first time he does it, it’s an accidental slip of the tongue that comes in a hazy and bleary voice, watered down by a sleep clogged throat. Still, the sound is melodic to Tsukiyama’s ears and has his heart beating out in rapid succession. 

His hands itch; his right even striking forward of its own volition to wake the sleeping hybrid, but he stops himself just in time and instead runs his fingers through silken ivory locks. Kaneki shifts in his slumber, snuggling closer to the warmth Tsukiyama’s emitting and falls further into whatever dream he’s having. 

A dream that very obviously has something to do with a certain wisteria haired ghoul. 

Smiling to himself, Tsukiyama follows Kaneki’s lead and pushes closer to the young ghoul. Warm and chapped hands slink around his waist and pull him yet closer still until their bodies are flush against each other and has saliva pooling in his mouth with the crashing tide of Kaneki’s scent encompassing him. He smells far too tempting, even now, and the hunger rises in him mildly. 

It’s nothing to cause him worry, however. Tsukiyama’s more or less chained the animal in him that still lusts only for the taste of half-and-half. Chained him up and submerged him deep in the cockles of his tarnished soul. After all, the moment Kaneki’s lips first graced his, he divorced the ‘gourmet’ and settled for something far more delectable. 

“Shuu-san, d-don’t leave..” Kaneki’s tone is quieter, a chord of fragility that reminds Tsukiyama of earlier days, of demure smiles and a shock of dark hair, resonating throughout. Kaneki's pleading and Tsukiyama can feel it as something in his core shatters with the sound. 

Rolling them gently, he hovers over Kaneki and stares down into that sleeping face contorted with the pain of a loss he’ll never suffer, not so long as air remains in Tsukiyama’s lungs. “Kaneki-kun,” he murmurs into the still night between them, resuming the travelling of his fingers through his hair. There’s no response other than a slight tilt of Kaneki’s head, pressing into the comfort Tsukiyama offers.  Ignoring the prick of tears forming behind his eyes (later, he’ll fully deny that there ever was such a thing), Tsukiyama pulls his fingers through snowy strands once again as an idea forms. Leaning across the distance, minimal as it is, his mouth beseeches Kaneki’s and slants to cover petal soft lips in a quiet and unassuming kiss. 

Tsukiyama then trails kiss after feather light kiss along the definition of Kaneki’s jaw, up to his ear where he pauses and whispers, “Je ne laisserai jamais votre côté, mon prince.”*

Kaneki’s response is instantaneous and expected, easily superseded by Tsukiyama’s strength and instinct. His left hand moves in a flash and catches Kaneki’s fist before it can make contact with his cheek, pinning it to the sheets beside his head. The loss of leverage his arm had provided also sends Tsukiyama’s full body weight toppling over Kaneki’s, aligning them perfectly and intimately. “Calmato, Ken-kun,” he admonishes with a lilt.

“Ken-kun?” Kaneki asks after a moment passes between them, their gazes never wavering as they each drink the other in. There’s confusion in his tone, but there’s a certain pride present also that’s telling of his acceptance in this new aspect to their relationship. 

Tsukiyama hums, nuzzling the side of Kaneki’s neck the way a cat might which sends vibrations rippling over his body, raising goosebumps that Tsukiyama boldly swipes a tongue along. “'Tis fair, no?” Tsukiyama pulls back to look deeply into slate eyes, warm smile glowing in the moonlight casting through the slats of the blinds behind them. “You called my name first, didn’t you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Je ne laisserai jamais votre côté, mon prince is a vague translation of 'I will never leave your side. my prince.'


	4. Oversized - Shuuneki

There’s a draft coming in through the window, chilled by the bite of late fall.

It seeps through the sheets Kaneki has wrapped around himself in Tsukiyama’s too-large bed and sets an array of gooseflesh rising along his bare skin, rousing him from the clutches of sleep and thrusting him into the dim light of early morning. He rolls over with a little groan, huffing as he rubs his eyes and finally blinks awake. Beside him the bed is empty, lonely in its vastness and in the face of the cold.

Down the hall he hears Tsukiyama singing something in some other language or five as well as the water of the shower which tempts him, plucks at his wants and instincts and calls out for him to near and enter, to join Tsukiyama. He nearly takes the bait but with a grumble of his stomach decides coffee is the first priority.

Actually, scratch that. Warmth is his first priority.

After a good, long stretch that pulls the tension from his slightly sore muscles (Tsukiyama hadn’t been gentle with him the night before. Not that Kaneki complained much, or at all) and leaves him feeling just that much more awake, Kaneki kicks away the tangled sheets and hefts himself away from the comfort of bed. His body screams at the temperature difference, beseeches him to return to the cache of stored body heat that lingers beneath the blankets, but he dismisses that idea and treads over to Tsukiyama’s huge wardrobe.

He hopes for a jumper and knows he’s seen Shuu wear one once or twice but all he sees are suit pieces in a variety of reds and purples and blues and even one kelly green ensemble that he can’t quite imagine him wearing. He rifles through the clothing a bit more, sure that there’s more to his closet than this and finds a box that’s high up on the top shelf and tucked away in the corner. He pulls it down, curious.

Neatly folded sweatshirts bearing the Kamii University insignia sit inside, waiting to be worn and chase away the chill. Kaneki frowns and wonders why on earth Shuu would order them if he never intended to wear them, shakes his head because there’s a long and plentiful list of things that Tsukiyama does that confounds him and always will, and tugs one on.

The reasoning behind Tsukiyama’s storage of the warm and delightfully cozy sweatshirts becomes apparent the moment it’s draped over Kaneki’s body; size. It hangs off his shoulder and exposes his collar, falls to the tops of his thighs, and almost completely covers his briefs. He’s slighter than Shuu, he knows, but with the way  it completely swaddles him he can guess that it’s too big for the other as well and his love of form-fitting attire would conflict with the sweatshirts. Still, it’s warm and better than a suit jacket that Tsukiyama may actually kill him for wearing should anything happen to it and Kaneki accepts it for what it is, accepts that he’s just too tired and cold and hungry to really give a damn about looking ridiculous in this get-up.

Stowing the box back on the shelf, he turns for the door only to find Shuu standing in the walkway and staring at him with a slightly dazed and unfocused look in his lavender eyes.

“Shuu-kun?” He questions, stepping towards him and beginning to feel slightly self-conscious with the way his eyes refocus on him entirely, pupils expanding.

Tsukiyama had honestly forgotten all about the box of over-sized jumpers to the point that he’d even forgotten to toss them out as he’d intended. He’s never been so ecstatic to have such a fickle mind than in the moment he saw Kaneki standing in the middle of his room looking simultaneously delectable and precious with one of the absurd garments flowing off of him and giving Shuu an eyeful of different bits of skin coupled with the tragedy of his milky hair twisted and fluffed into a nest of bedhead that sticks up in odd places and lays flat in others.

Kaneki Ken is trying to kill him, it is official.

Kaneki’s voice breaks through the fog of Tsukiyama’s mind and the ghoul in question straightens, his fist tightening around the towel slung low on his hips as he considers that he’s spaced out for maybe a little too long, has been roaming his eyes over a slender collarbone perfect for kissing and marking up with playful nips of teeth. “Kaneki-kun, you look .. You look so .. So..” Words leave him momentarily as his eyes slide up to that handsome and sweet face and sleep addled grey eyes and suddenly the one word perfect to describe him slams into Tsukiyama’s head.

“ _Dolce_.”


	5. Come Morning Light - Utakane

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the support and comments, friends!! They really do make me smile!
> 
> Feel free to send me any requests on tumblr: www.tsutakane.tumblr.com

Mornings spent at Uta’s, where the light that filters in through the slats of blinds is grey and cold and the sounds of a sleepless city seep through the cracks in walls, are refreshing in a sense that is unique only to the mask maker.

They’re both orderly people by nature, enjoy a good and reliable routine (something Kaneki’s life has distinctly lacked sense his entanglement with the ghoul world). Theirs consist of hiding beneath the thin blankets of Uta’s twin bed, wrapped around each other and clinging to a fleeting moment of peace and the warmth of skin pressed to skin. 

Uta takes Kaneki into his arms, winding one around his shoulder as the other drapes across a once slender and sharp hip now softened by the bulk of muscle the teen’s been amassing. Calloused, work-roughened fingers skitter along Kaneki’s back to count the vertebrae of his spine, brand invisible patterns, and play connect-the-dots with his freckles. 

The feeling those fingers inspire within Kaneki can’t be described by even the finest kanji, or any other language, verbal or written, that the half-ghoul knows of. It’s deep and echoing, collectively calling to his wavering humanity and soothing his corrupted sanity; it reminds Kaneki of hope and love. Every time Uta slots their bodies together in any sense and runs those elegant fingers over Kaneki’s heated skin, something bright and beautiful wraps around him. It urges him to remember his mission, to carry on fighting for the future of the man in his arms and ghouls everywhere. 

When Uta feels confident that Kaneki is with him, wholly, he dips into personal space yet further and steals petal pink lips with his own. Kaneki’s mouth is a wonder, this is what Uta decided the very first time they’d kissed and he’s reminded of it tenfold on their mornings together. His lips are unfairly soft even when chapped and offset the thinness of Uta’s own harmoniously, balancing them out. They each sink deep into the friction of lips and teeth and sharp inhalations of breath that puff out and scatter along cheeks and necks, enticing faint giggles from Kaneki and breathy laughs from Uta. 

“Kaneki-kun,” Uta says, tone falling back to a calm monotone as the playfulness shrinks away – chased by the encroaching light of a new day and the darker shift their lives have simultaneously taken.

Kaneki turns his slate eyes to Uta’s own and waits for the words he knows will come; they always do.

“Stay with me.”

The teen just raises himself on his elbows and kisses the corners of Uta’s mouth before slanting his lips firmly over his mate’s, instilling as much affection and yearning into the action as he can. His arms tighten around Uta, silently telling him that Kaneki has no intention to let go. 


	6. Interlude - Utakane

It’s the sound of glass breaking and the telling patter of feet that wakes Uta. The headache he had when he’d fallen asleep thunders back to life, hammering into the back of his skull with every step he takes towards the intrusion. His natural defensive instincts flare up as well as his territorial ones, caution lacing every one of his actions as he creeps down the stairs that connect studio to loft.

It’s not unusual, he presumes, for robbery to occur in this neighbourhood but he is a ghoul and that doesn’t always bode well in such situations, or ever. His senses are sharp, heightening under the pressure and with presence of someone else, someone his gut tells him is another ghoul or half thereof.

Uta’s lungs deflate when their eyes find each other. One amber grey eye and the endless black and ruby hue of kakugan peer at Uta from the shadows, familiar slight frame a solid black silhouette in the unobstructed light of the moon streaming in through the window he’s broken, milk white hair visible and indicative.  Kaneki Ken is standing in front of him, having broken into his home and business, and Uta has no idea quite what to do other than stare in bewilderment with his heart in his throat.

Silence carries between them in thick waves that make breathing a chore for Uta, his eyes never leaving the young man in front of him even as he nears Kaneki, approaching him as he might a wounded animal, fearful of him skittering off into the hush of the night. As Uta passes the first doorway that veers off into a small washroom, he runs a hand along the wall and feels for the lightswitch, flipping it and flooding the room with the harsh glare of industrial lighting. His gaze flickers from Kaneki for a mere moment to adjust but it’s enough time to allow the half-ghoul to close in on his personal space.

He’s in front of Uta, not touching him, but close enough that Uta can feel how chilled he really is and the shivers that seize his muscles every other minute. Uta catches himself and steadies before reaching out and carefully laying his hand in the middle of Kaneki’s shoulders, licking his lips with concentration as he keeps the pressure light and nonthreatening, silently inviting Kaneki further inside.

Uta gets him up the stairs and lights a candle, deciding the softer glow would better suit them both when compared with the bitter bite of artificial lighting at this time of night. He then grabs the blanket thrown over the back of the sofa and drapes it over Kaneki’s trembling shoulders in an attempt to warm him, comfort him, and gestures for him to take a seat wherever he likes. Uta then goes to his kitchen and rummages a bit to find two tins of ready-made coffee, pours them into respective mugs and then warms them in the microwave. He presses one between Kaneki’s cold fingers, firm in his silent demand for him to drink.

Then, Uta waits.

He hasn’t known where Kaneki’s been for some time now, no one has and most have written him off as dead. Uta rationalised that was logical – the path Kaneki had chosen was perilous and had taken him to the ends of his own wit and back and then some, a path streaked with crimson and wrought with death – and allowed himself to buy into the lie, denying his heart any real time to bud with hope. Yet, here he was, studying that very same person over the rim of his poor excuse of coffee and hospitality, anxiety balling up between his ribs and beneath his sternum, pressing down with a heavy anchoring weight on his lungs and heart.

Kaneki moves, taking quick furtive steps toward the edge of Uta’s bed and perching upon the corner. His eyes are cast down, kakugan gone and replaced with slate, looking at his reflection in the dark of the coffee in his cup which he has cradled between his hands. Uta thinks he looks lost and it twists something inside of him.

“Kaneki-kun,” he allows, his voice thick with sleep and disuse and loud in the silence between them. The sounds of city life can be heard beyond the walls of the loft, drunken hollering and the pulsing hum of bass from nearby clubs but it doesn’t stir either of them, both focused only on words neither can quite find.

Kaneki blinks, his eyelids slipping closed for a long moment before fluttering open once more and his eyes cast towards the mask maker. “No one knows I’m here.” It’s all he can make himself say, his thoughts hazy and scattered amongst the pain he’s feeling and the sheer exhaustion that’s settling deep in his bones. His grip on the coffee mug tightens.

Uta nods, taking a sip of his coffee. He’d figured as much the moment he saw him downstairs, saw in the lines of his face that even he was surprised he’d come there. It makes Uta wonder what’s happened to Kaneki, what he could have been put through to leave him so disorganised and out of tune with himself. Then, he thinks that perhaps he doesn’t want to know at all.

Then there's the rather terrifying notion that Uta knows all too well.

There’s an underlying message in the words as well that he picks up on; no one knows he’s here and so no one will. Uta takes another sip of the coffee and studies Kaneki a bit further. He looks the same but altogether different in a way not tangible enough to be put in words. He’s gained muscle and bulk, has let his hair get longer and has even grown just the faintest bit taller, but there’s still something he can’t place about this version of Kaneki Ken. Something feels edgier, more feral in him than the last time they’d been together, something Uta doesn’t know what to make of without more information that he’s unwilling to ask for.

It’s his eyes, Uta decides while drinking in the last bit of coffee in his cup. They give away the change in Kaneki clear enough to anyone with the talent of reading them, of reading him. He’s battle-worn. Tired in a way sleep can’t fix and scarred in a manner beyond physicality. It’s sad to him when Uta thinks back on how hopeful and naive Kaneki had been the first time he blundered into this studio hidden behind Touka. Kaneki isn’t doe-eyed and wondrous anymore and that breaks Uta’s heart the fairest bit.

Uta moves across the room to sit closer to Kaneki, again placing his hand on that same spot on his upper back  to dispel the tension built up and knotted there. Kaneki leans into the gentle touch and finally raises the cup of now room temperature coffee to his lips, gulping it down in such haste that Uta worries when he last drank anything. “Why are you here?” Uta at last asks, calm and casual. He asks as though he isn’t all that interested in the answer, asks in a way that won’t pressure Kaneki or make him feel under observation.

Beneath his hand Uta can feel Kaneki stiffen, muscles becoming taut with agitation and based on the sudden twitch Kaneki develops in his leg Uta could guess he was pressing into territory that the other would rather run away from than talk about.

He sighs, resigning himself to his questions going unanswered as he pushes away from the bed and goes into the bathroom, turning on the tap to the tub and setting it to fill with hot water and a bit of jasmine oil to froth and add comfort. Uta pulls his tank top off with ease, dropping it to the floor between the door of the bathroom and the walk to his bed. He tugs the blanket away from Kaneki, pausing to take the cup from his hands and set it on the bedside table to be dealt with later. He then sets to the task of slowly and methodically ridding Kaneki of his clothing. Uta begins with the zipper at the nape of his neck, dragging it down, down Kaneki’s spine and loosening up the cling of latex and lycra and pulls away his shirt. Uta takes note of some places along that expanse of firm chest were places where Kaneki had seemingly been injured and hadn’t been allowed to fully heal before infection set it, his RC cells then knitting himself back together but with the briefest of scars left behind. He says nothing despite the boiling of worry in his gut and carries on with his task, setting his sights on Kaneki’s shorts.

He tugs them off and all but peels the leg wear from Kaneki’s legs, leaving him naked on the bed as Uta goes to check the bath. After shutting off the water, he returns and ushers Kaneki to the bathroom with little protest, his sore and desperate body hungry for the warmth and cleansing of the water. He dips his toes in and wiggles them around before plopping down into the tub altogether, water sloshing over the edge to slap against the hardwood. A moan of satisfaction slipping between chapped lips.

Kaneki hardly notices when Uta joins him, only taking note of the movement in the water and the tangle of their legs as the other settles behind him, adjusting the pair of them so that Kaneki’s head is cradled in the nook of Uta’s shoulder, strands of his long hair tickling and teasing at his neck. Uta’s arms lock around Kaneki’s middle, hands splaying flat against his hips and smoothing down to trail over thighs.

They stay like this for an indeterminable amount of time, they stay until Uta thinks that Kaneki may have fallen asleep against him. He shakes him, gentle and woeful of reaping the relaxation of sleep and the obscure fortitude of dreaming, but he doesn’t want to let the water get cold before either have properly been rinsed.

Uta reaches for his bar of shampoo, dipping it beneath the water and passing it between his hands in the open air until suds cover him and the scent of sage tickles his nose. His hands are soft as they part and slip between shocked strands of white, washing away the filth and ruin. Then he dips Kaneki’s head under the water, pushing down and bracing him with a secure arm around his shoulders while the other rinses out soap. The oil in the water has worked to coat both their hairs and Uta’s just about pull the drain and forgo his own washing in lieu of rest when he feels warm, water-pruned fingers close around his wrist and rest against his pulse.

He turns, finds Kaneki looking at him with an almost fearful look, pleading shining in his murky eyes and battling weariness for dominance in the wear of his shoulders. “I’d like to wash you, if that’s okay?” he asks, voice clear despite the confusion displayed in every other aspect of himself, and Uta finds he can’t resist him. He sinks back into the fading heat of the bath, waiting, and sighs when he finally feels those soft yet capable hands caressing through his hair.

Bitten and ragged nails dig at his scalp and Uta’s pulse races, letting Kaneki sort out his own pattern and feel for things. It isn’t long until sage again crackles through the air around them and those fingers are delving into a curtain of wet ink, smooth in their curious mapping of the shorn area of Uta’s unorthodox haircut. Kaneki takes care in washing all the bubbles out, pulling the chain of the plug when he’s finished and standing to wait for Uta to fetch towels.

Once they’re both dry and Uta’s finished wringing out his hair, he sets to finding them both a fresh change of clothing. He tugs on a pair of briefs and tosses the sodden towel on the back of his desk chair before rooting through his dressers. He tosses a black tank top and a pair of loose grey pants at Kaneki that would have once been a tad too big and loose on him but now fit better to the muscle he’s gained. Uta catches himself staring and shakes his head, forcing himself to remember that he needs to be more on guard than to let such musings flutter by, even if this is Kaneki and every part of him yearns for the days of familiarity and easy caresses.

Uta dresses himself in a pair of charcoal sweats and plain white t-shirt, crawling onto the bed and sinking into his usual nest of blankets, sheets, and pillows. Kaneki switches the light off and follows suit, snuggling up to Uta’s side under a flannel blanket and going so far as to press a light but lingering kiss to the hollow of his throat, just beneath the thick lettering of ink there.

“I’ve missed you, Uta-san,” Kaneki breathes before settling further into the joint warmth of the blanket and ghoul. Uta smiles, running his hand through wet hair and down a firm arm, tucking it into the fold of Kaneki’s waistband and holding him more firmly to him. Uta doesn’t know what Kaneki’s been up to or what brought him here, but he’s glad for it all the same. Glad to once more feel the weight of him saddled along his side, breath fanning out evenly and teasing the skin of his shoulder and neck.

When he wakes the next morning, Kaneki’s side of the bed is cold and Uta isn’t surprised. He doesn’t have to check to know the half-ghoul is gone, once more nothing but a memory in Uta’s heart and a whisper the wind clings to. 

* * *

 

Some months later Uta receives word of the end of the SS-Rated Centipede.

The mask in his hand breaks into crumbling bits of plaster, as does his heart.


	7. A Reunion - Shuuneki

Their reunion is, in a word, bittersweet. 

Disbelief echoes in violet eyes, shining bright in the tears Kaneki can see stuck between thick lashes. It's both startling and striking, pulling at his heartstrings with a pain that tastes somehow different than any he's been dealt thus far in his fairly shitty life as a ghoul. 

And yet, the tears that now rain freely down Tsukiyama's face and dew up at his pointed chin seem familiar. Kaneki's positive he hasn't seen this side of the extravagant Gourmet, witnessed this form of sheer vulnerability, but there's and edge of not quite deja vu in the air that can't be made heads or tails of. Transfixed by the sight, kaneki stands rooted to his spot barely more than ten feet away from him and just stares. 

A minute passes in the silence. 

Another. 

Two more after that, and finally the quiet shatters with a hitch in Tsukiyama's throat; a sharp intake of air, then, "You're not dead." A statement that is more sterling realisation than blunt, as thought the lapse of time since Tsukiyama stepped through the door of his home to find the missing piece of himself standing in the moonlight was a mere hallucination. 

"No." Such a simple word has never seemed so difficult to force out, sticking to Kaneki's tongue like balled up sand. 

A tremor takes Tsukiyama, rattles his bones in his skin and send him straight to his knees. Then Kaneki is front of him, reaching out to soften the fall and resultantly pulls Tsukiyama into the circle of his arms. 

The vital thump of Kaneki's heart sings in Tsukiyama's ears, the heat of his chest warming his cheek as he presses further against the younger. Relief cycles through his body, silencing the doubt of this being reality which had taken a firm hold of Tsukiyama's heart in the instant when their eyes had met across the shadows of the room. 

Kaneki shifts and threads his hand through lavender strands of hair before gently tugging to look to deep into the eyes that he's been waiting years to see again. He reaches forward with his free hand and catches tears with his thumb. "Shuu-san, you shouldn't cry for me."

"You've always been worth my tears, Ken-kun," he responds easily enough though the tone of his voice is haunted but nonetheless determined and truthful. 

Guilt edges deep into Kaneki's stomach, feeling like the pierce of a Dove's quinque -- all bite and no mercy. In the months that passed and all the things he had seen, done, Kaneki had never really sat back and considered how his absence was affecting those he'd left in the 20th Ward; friends, family, and foes alike. Whenever he would start, when the night ahead seemed too long and his mind too idle and worn, he would force the thoughts away and remind himself that he needed to be focused on the task at hand. A lie he would carve into his fractured conscience, set in place to stop him from sinking helplessly into the guilt and depression of abandoning the ones he cared for and the aching yearn for the man he'd fallen in love with and never told.

He hadn't wanted to think about the mad gleam of Tsukiyama's happiness leaving his eyes and becoming dimmed, watery graves of heartbreak.

Looking at him now, Kaneki knows he'd made the right choice in stalling those thoughts and imaginings and he's grateful for the protection his mind afforded him, but he can also feel the seal of promise engraving itself into his ribs and lacing the blood pumping through his veins. 

He will never again give Tsukiyama Shuu another reason to cry, not for him.


	8. A Little More - Shuuneki

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Teen ghouls AU

"Kaneki-kun!" He hears excitedly bellowed in the distance. He has the time for one, two, three breaths before bracing for the impact of a lavender landslide. 

As expected Tsukiyama throws himself down to sit on the tabletop of the bench next to him, looking irritatingly graceful. He peers down at Kaneki, wide violet eyes taking in all of him as thought they hadn't just seen each other an hour ago -- his pupils dilating very slightly thought Kaneki has the good grace to pretend he doesn't notice -- and smiles. A pale hand reaches to snatch away the book Kaneki's been reading for the last half hour during his wait for the school lessons to let out, his wait for Tsukiyama Shuu, and snaps it closed before setting it aside. 

Kaneki's eyes flick towards Tsukiyama's, staring him down even as a slight flush works to the surface of his skin. He swallows thickly and blinks to dispel the moment and manages to ask, "Can we go now?" His voice speaks of exhaustion, Kaneki's string of late night study sessions, hours put in at Anteiku, and of course the trying full-time occupation of ensuring Tsukiyama doesn't accidentally kill himself or worse catching up to him. 

Tsukiyama leans back on his hands and casts a look up towards the sky, blue and bright in the mid-spring sun and speckled with clusters of white cotton like clouds drifting at a snail's pace in the slow breeze. For a moment Kaneki thinks he'll claim wanting to stay and enjoy the weather a bit more or demand that he and Kaneki have an impromptu 'picnic' there atop the school bench and among the birds and ants as he is prone to do. Another minute stretches by in which Kaneki affords the time to admire his friend's silhouette and beauty but shakes away the thoughts before they can ever become more than dust trapped between his ears. 

Finally, Tsukiyama blinks his eyes closed and inhales. " _Q_ _ui_ ," he answers with a nod and stands, offering his hand to Kaneki to pull him up as well. Once Kaneki is on two feet, steady and reaching for the book Shuu has stolen, it's again whisked out of his hand as a streak of purple runs past him and calls out, " _Allez_ , Kaneki-kun!" while hooking right around the corner.

Kaneki sighs and tilts his head back to squint at the sun as though he's being mocked before he secures his bag against his side and takes off running, loosening his tie and smiling wider with every advance.

Some twenty minutes of chasing Tsukiyama that turned somehow into being chased later the two of them are seated at a table in Anteiku. Kaneki is glaring at Tsukiyama who still looks as collected and handsome as ever while Kaneki feels rather windblown and mussed, his dark hair a complete mess around his ears and eyes. 

He'd made the comment about a haircut when they were still outside getting their breaths back and Tsukiyama had suddenly carded his hand through the twisted brown-black locks in a soft caress and smiled warmly, toothily, telling him with a shake of his head how disastrous that would be. Kaneki didn't question it, opting only to swallow and nod dumbly and pretend not to see Touka looking at them weirdly through the window. 

She'd greeted them when they actually made their way inside the little cafe, sharing a curious and imperious look with Kaneki before snapping back to whatever jibe Tsukiyama made and Kaneki missed. He's glad of the distraction Tsukiyama can always be relied upon to provide even without needing to be asked or told, he's just like that and Kaneki enjoys it. He manages to diffuse the tension between Touka and Shuu, asking her if she could just grab them the usual and sending her away with grumbling under her breath about "damn idiots," and "stupid smile gets me every freaking time."Tsukiyama snickers and Kaneki shoves him into a booth, swiping his book back once and for all.

Touka brings over Kaneki's Americano and Tsukiyama's espresso -- whether the scalding of Tsukiyama's hand is accidental or not is entirely a matter of perspective, claims Touka -- and Kaneki just shakes his head at the pair of them while he sorts the sheets of his homework and begins flipping through an open textbook on the table. He has to bite back a smile at Tsukiyama's long-suffering monologue of pain as his hand slowly turns less and less pink and returns fully to his natural alabaster skin tone.

They're both immersed in their schoolwork; Kaneki puzzling out formulas for his chemistry unit while Tsukiyama practises his French work under his breath and scribbles notes indecipherable to all but himself in the empty columns of his workbook, when that hint of something more edges into the atmosphere around them. It's subtle and quiet at first, Tsukiyama's fingers looping around Kaneki's ankle where he has his legs propped on the cushion of the booth next to where Tsukiyama sits. His thumb plays across the bit of skin that's exposed by the fall of his school pants and the short hem of his sock. His eyes flash up from the equation he's been struggling through and meet Tsukiyama's across the little distance. 

His thumb doesn't stop moving in lazy lines and Kaneki can't bring himself to ask or to move away for whatever reason, captivated in the way Shuu is looking at him with playful fascination. Not for the first time, Kaneki wonders why either of them are even doing something as silly as this, wonders what his counterpart's motivation is and also ponders his own reasons for not telling him to quit. It's not that the touch is inappropriate or even all that distracting (though it is starting to tickle a bit), but with the way Tsukiyama is grinning and leering at him it could easily turn less innocent.

A part of himself wonders if isn't that exact possibility that draws Kaneki in so effortlessly.

He decides this isn't really the place of the time to figure that stuff out and pulls his legs back, sitting up properly and crossing his ankles beneath his chair. Kaneki then reaches across the table and spins Tsukiyama's French book around to face him. He circles a word that he's heard him mispronounce a couple times, runs over it once more in his own head before repeating it aloud for Shuu as it is meant to be said.

The strawberry hue that rides high on elegant cheekbones does not go unnoticed by Kaneki's sharp eyes as he leans back in his seat and returns to his own work, sneaking glances at the other. It occurs to him that maybe their games can continue on, as he has just stumbled across a new way to unveil Tsukiyama's intentions. 


	9. A Date, A Little More - Shuuneki

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Human AU and NSFW

His coffee has gone tepid and untouched, bits of it staining the white porcelain saucer the cup sits atop as it had sloshed over the rim due to the excessive tapping of his foot underneath the table. He’s nervous, he knows and can’t quite help, and the unruly anxiety of terrible moths in his stomach – moths and not butterflies because butterflies usually meant good feelings and not this stupid rush of trepidation he can’t seem to shake – has done nothing but make him feel queasy with nausea.

If he’s going to vomit, he thinks, it needs to be before this so-called date can get underway.

Not for the first time in the twenty or so minutes he’s spent sitting in the little café that will play host to his untimely demise, Kaneki wonders just why on earth his friends thought setting him up on a blind date was even an idea let alone a good one. (He chooses to question their sanity and not his own for agreeing to the whole damn ridiculous thing because it’ll make it that much easier for him to blame them all later when this blows up in his and their faces). He’d done his dating for the year, it hadn’t gone well, and that was that. There was no further need to see him hook up with anyone and, in his opinion, they could at least pretend to not notice his moping about and leave him be.

Alas, there was just no such thing as winning an argument with the immovable force that is Touka and most especially so when Nishiki actually agrees with her. Kaneki had turned to Hide in the vain hope that his oldest and closest friend would see him through the other side of this debacle, but no luck. The idiot had laughed at him, slapped him on the back, and told him it was beyond time to move on from the devastation of Rize.

Thus Kaneki is now sitting inside a café that is far more upscale than Anteiku and bordering along the lines of actually being posh, waiting on a man that he’s about eighty-seven percent positive he won’t find interesting enough to even have a decent conversation with.

It’s not that Kaneki thinks himself better than others, but it is a fair fact to state that he’s above average intelligence and that can sometimes lead to finding himself bored by others’ inane chatter. He’d sat through more than one long-winded gush of gossip from Rize and was always too kind to speak against her; in hindsight, he really wishes he had.

The guest of honour, one Tsukiyama Shuu, is destined to arrive at any minute now and the moths were coming to a swelling tide in his stomach, their wings and dust choking him into submission. He was less nervous about asking Rize out than he is right at this moment with his clammy palms and floundering sense of confidence. Of course, that was likely due to the severe damage dealt to him in his courtship of the devilish dame; having one’s heart broken is never an easy feat to overcome.

With an inward sigh, Kaneki does have to admit that maybe his friends are right and he needs to put aside all things melancholy and, at the very least, hope to make a new friend out of tonight’s excursion.

The sound of bells chiming with the entrance of a new patron has Kaneki glancing up out of habit of working in his own coffee shop just in time to see a shock of pale purple hair fitted around a handsome and slender face. The man is tall, reaching what Kaneki would guess is nearly six feet, and dressed rather sharply if not a bit opulently in a fitted crimson cable-knit jumper that hugs to his clearly well defined arms and chest in a way that Kaneki can’t help but admire. He wonders if the man is a model of some kind, thinks that sweater probably costs more than the rent of his flat. His scope drifts further down long legs that are clad in the darkest of violet dyed denim to offset the flare of his top while complementing his hair, a pair of black leather oxfords completing the look. Kaneki can’t determine his age from the youthful yet hard lines of his features, but he assumes he’s within a stone’s throw of his twenty-two years.

Kaneki looks up, finished with his once-over of the newcomer, and meets a vivid lavender gaze set directly on him. Heat creeps into face and along the back of his neck as those eyes turn mildly playful in their own assessment and a smirk rides lips that look as smooth as satin, shining with the barest hint of gloss.

The man begins to walk towards where Kaneki is sitting, instilling a momentary panic that sets upon him in a wave of flustered excitement which brings about an entirely new round of nerves for Kaneki, though for completely different reasons. Presumably, this is who he would be meeting for a drink and already his expectations have been squashed, stomped on by fancy shoes and a debonair smile.

Coming to a stop just in front of the chair opposite him, he asks, “Kaneki Ken?”

His voice is deep and dark and Kaneki is vaguely reminded of embers smouldering in a hearth before he clears his throat and nods, getting to his feet to stand and greet his date. “How’d you guess?” He jokes lamely, giving a light laugh in attempt to dispel his nervous temperament.

“The eyepatch gives you up, I’m afraid,” Tsukiyama replies easily. Kaneki braces himself for the question he most dreads when it comes to meeting anyone new, his breath coalescing in his lungs while he waits for Tsukiyama to ask him why and what happened.

‘An accident,’ Kaneki will respond, closed off and unwilling to discuss at any great length what lead to the crippling of his eye and the woman responsible. It doesn’t come, however, as Tsukiyama pulls out the chair and sits with grace, left leg crossing his right and gently nudging Kaneki’s knee beneath the small table. He’s uncertain whether it was an accident or not, but he takes the reprieve for what it is. In effort to regain his momentarily lost composure, Kaneki scrambles back into his seat and focuses on controlling his breaths, counting them in his head. Really, by the end of the night his own expectations will be what kill him.

Tsukiyama is perusing the menu with an idle interest, gaze flickering between the words there and Kaneki’s face, obviously looking for something Kaneki can’t discern but wonders if he’s found all the same. There’s an ever present tilt of his mouth in a smile that’s both charming and threatening that can’t be made much sense of along with a general sense of mysterious intrigue settled in the air around him and he finds that looking elsewhere is more difficult than he’d imagined.

“Any recommedations?” Tsukiyama questions, waving the menu around and looking at Kaneki expectantly.

Frowning, Kaneki shakes his head. “Er, no. I mean, I haven’t actually been here before. In fact, I was led to believe that you chose this place..?”

“That so? I’ve never been here before either. I just told Chie that a neutral setting would be for the best and somehow she and Touka decided this lot was it. It’s a bit grand for a coffee place, don’t you think?”

Kaneki bites down on his tongue to keep from snipping that Tsukiyama can obviously afford the overpriced items on offer in such a place, all the while cursing the Kirishima siblings for transferring their surliness and dry retorts off on him. “Honestly, I prefer the comfort and coffee of where I work – Anteiku – but I asked that we meet somewhere the others couldn’t pry.”

Tsukiyama seems to ponder over what he’s just said for a couple minutes, leaving Kaneki to the blistering silence between the pair that is only broken by the sounds of life around them. Finally, he says, “Would you like to go someplace else? I know of a few nice restaurants around here.”

“I’m not really all that hungry,” Kaneki admits, scratching at the back of his neck in mild embarrassment. Just when he’d thought the date could go well, it seems things are misfiring after all.

“Well, that’s fine too. We could go for a walk, if you’d like? Normally I’d invite you back to my place but my flatshare is being a nightmare as of late. Unless you wanted to go to yours?” There’s an earnestness in his voice that Kaneki construes as being unwilling to let their date fizzle apart which is incredibly endearing, not to mention reciprocated on his part.

Smiling and finally feeling the tension and awkwardness leave him, Kaneki grabs his wallet and throws a couple bills on the table to pay for his coffee before standing once more and offering his hand to Tsukiyama.

* * *

In the end, they do end up at Kaneki’s place.

In retrospect, Kaneki isn’t even sure how it lead to this but he has no complaints as he’s pressed against the door to his flat with Tsukiyama’s warm body fitted against his in a manner most wonderful. His fingers twist and thread through wisteria strands, tugging him back from where he’s tracing lines along Kaneki’s collar with his lips, spares him a hooded look before weaving their mouths together. Addiction is the taste that wears across those sensuous lips, he thinks, and traces the tip of his tongue along the dip between the two.

Tsukiyama hums his delight, opens his mouth to grant Kaneki the entrance he seeks, and gives a rather forceful buck of his hips that slots arousal against arousal, teasing each of them. Twin groans are exchanged between wet explorations of mouths, teeth clacking together as the kiss takes a more feral turn. Shuu adjusts his grip on Kaneki’s thighs which are pinned to either side of sharp hips, pulling him closer still and playing up the friction building between their bodies, heat mounting and fueling their movements.

Kaneki’s hand fists in Tsukiyama’s hair, blunt nails dragging exquisitely along his scalp and eliciting a hiss that spurs him further, emboldening him enough to nip at the tongue that’s enticing his own, drawing the fairest amount of blood. He takes care to soothe the wound, licking away the copper tinge and pressing a softer kiss to Tsukiyama’s abused mouth before backing off to give them both room to breathe, his head banging against the sturdy frame of the door.

A silence passes between them, their laboured breaths the only sounds to be heard alongside the roar of blood in their ears, both of their bodies laced with adrenaline and arousal. “Tsukiyama-san,” Kaneki pants, eyeing him from where he’s tilted back and taking in his fairly frazzled appearance. The ruddy blush that rides high on his cheeks, his once carefully parted hair now a mess and lifted in odd places, that damnable jumper pulled free of the tuck of his waistband and rucked up to reveal pale and smooth skin, eyes screwed shut as he tries to tamp back his very obvious desire; Kaneki thinks he hasn’t looked as handsome this whole night than as he does in this stolen moment.

His eyes open slowly, purple almost blown completely by the black of his pupils as he looks at Kaneki, his tongue peeking out to swipe across his reddened lips. “You look delectable, Kaneki-kun. _Très magnifique_.” His voice is deeper, richer than it’s been all night, the effect of it sending a shiver chasing the length of Kaneki’s spine and settling in the pit of his belly. That voice makes Kaneki want to forget all of his reservations of them only just meeting and cave to the mounting inferno that’s being built up between them, to finally live as unchained as he sometimes wishes he could, to let Tsukiyama take him for everything he has.

They’d been chatting idly and admiring the snowfall just half an hour ago, a respectable distance apart and carefully minding themselves. Kaneki still doesn’t understand quite how it went from conversing about books to feeling Tsukiyama stealing a quiet kiss to a crescendo of passion and need, thinks maybe he should’ve seen it coming and diverted the course because there’s something innately predatory in Tsukiyama’s appraisal of him in the dark of the room. He feels very like this man may devour him if things continue as they are, knows that’s all that is keeping him clinging to the idea of calling this off instead of giving in. It’s a nervous fear that comes surging up with images of hair similar to Shuu’s, longer and a couple shades darker.

He thinks he wants to forget her and the mess she made of him, wants to allow Tsukiyama to rewrite his story into something less tragic and more carnal.

And so he does.

Kaneki pushes off the door, shoulders rolling with the motion to give him the necessary leverage as he wraps his arms around broad shoulders and digs his fingers into soft red fabric, pouring all his anxious wrapped want of this man into a deep and lingering kiss. Tsukiyama responds as expected and presses into him again, demolishing any amount of space that could separate them in his haste and thrilling Kaneki even more.

Ankles lock around Tsukiyama’s slim waist and just above his ass while he lifts Kaneki away from the door, carrying him blindly into the flat beyond. Kaneki does his best to direct them towards the bedroom and resultantly bruises them both in the process as they stumble about the shadows of the hall and knock into the little table he has there. They share a laugh, lips still close and breath fanning about, undeterred by the damage they’ve taken and eventually make it to the desired location, Tsukiyama lowering Kaneki to the plush comfort of his bed.

Tsukiyama takes his time undressing him, stripping away an article of clothing and lavishing each revealed bit of Kaneki’s skin in kisses and gentle nips, seeking out his sensitive places and taking in the little sounds made with each wet pass of his tongue. Kaneki can feel the heat staining his face and tries to not be embarrassed by the intimacy on display, tries to bite back and deafen the sharp inhales and breathy moans that leave him with every touch but as Tsukiyama moves lower down his body it proves nearly impossible. He’s so hard it’s becoming unbearable, painful even, and he can feel the heat and pressure of Tsukiyama _just there_ but it’s still not enough, not with the restriction of his trousers and briefs, not with Tsukiyama still fully clothed and continuing to tease him so ruthlessly.

Teeth clamp down around his nipple and his back arches off the bed and Kaneki’s voice pitches higher, louder. “Aah!” He claws at the bedspread beneath him and wills Tsukiyama to move, to get on with giving him the reprieve he so desperately needs but lacks the will to vocalise.

Warm and soft capable hands slide along his sides and tickle him the fairest bit before beginning to undo the snap and zip of his jeans, tugging them down his hips just enough to allow his dick the room to press forward against his briefs. Skilled fingers playfully touch him through the damp fabric and coax him into being harder still, fluid leaking from the head and what isn’t lost to the grey material drips down along his shaft and Kaneki whines beatifically from the sensation.

His breathing falters entirely as sudden wet heat envelopes him through the shorts, Tsukiyama’s talented tongue tracing the length of him. He’s sure he’ll cum from teasing and foreplay alone if this keeps up, wishing it would while simultaneously wanting it to end; he doesn’t want the night to end so abruptly when he hasn’t had the chance to experience all that Tsukiyama has to offer.

His briefs along with his denims are pulled from him, Tsukiyama placing kisses to each of his ankles as he drags his palms up the underside of Kaneki’s thighs, stopping as he nears the curvature of buttocks and strumming his thumbs along the soft jut of hipbone. Kaneki feels the heat of him nearing his needy arousal, tenses with anticipation as hot breath plays at the tip of his cock and dares to rise up to his elbows and look down just in time to watch himself disappear in Tsukiyama’s mouth. The heat is astounding, lessened only by the moisture of his tongue and the sharpness of his teeth, and leaves Kaneki gasping. The sight, purely erotic and like something out of a film, has Kaneki groaning with appreciation and delight, his hips bucking forward slightly to slip further down Tsukiyama’s throat.

A hand reaches up towards Kaneki’s face to tear away the eyepatch before he can react, revealing his murky left eye to Tsukiyama’s keen gaze. It’s almost enough for Kaneki to soften and push him away, but the feel of Tsukiyama swallowing around him and hollowing out his cheeks to provide a greater frenzy inducing suction stalls him and keeps him locked into the moment.

Kaneki can feel himself slipping, his body and mind sprinting towards release and the euphoria to be found there. His eyes roll and toes curl, his hand absently reaching down to grasp a fistful of violet and lead Tsukiyama, pulling at him until his nose is pressed flat against Kaneki’s skin. Tsukiyama works him down to the root, hands circling around his thighs and tossing his legs over his shoulders before falling back to cup and tease at sensitive balls, delicately rolling them between his fingers and causing Kaneki to seize up. He’s seconds away from shattering completely when Tsukiyama wraps his long fingers around the ones in his hair and pulls Kaneki’s hand away, sitting up and releasing his cock from the enticement of his mouth. Kaneki doesn’t even have the time to be disappointed before that mouth is on him again, tongue licking down and along the dip of his ass to prod at his entrance. With a squirm and loud moan, Kaneki relaxes enough to allow him access, splendid wet warmth overriding his senses wholly.

Kaneki casts a look at Tsukiyama, frowning with the realisation of his still being fully dressed. Determined to not be the only one exposed and to feed his curiosity of what the man looks like under the fine fabric, Kaneki uses the last of his will to push him away and right this wrong. Tsukiyama seems utterly confused with what’s happening until Kaneki roughly pulls at the sweater, wanting it off and refusing to wait any longer. It comes off easy enough, furthering the mess of Tsukiyama’s hair though neither take notice or care, followed quickly with his pants and shorts. Seeing him naked, Kaneki is even more convinced that Tsukiyama should be a model, especially a nude one. All lean muscle and alabaster skin, a hint of definition in his core leading Kaneki to believe that he's spent a good amount of time at the gym. Then, of course, there's his cock – a thing of beauty in and of itself. Long and thick, perfectly proportioned to his body, and curved slightly to the left; the sight of it, swollen with need and weeping opalescence, makes Kaneki's knees weaken and mouth water.

He wants to reach out and touch, to play with it and see Tsukiyama come undone by his hand, but there isn't time for that now. Not when both of them are hard-up for it as they are. Kaneki promises to himself that he'll take advantage of the chance later, sure that it will present itself, and turns to fish through his bedside table for a condom and lube. He tosses both on the foot of the bed where Tsukiyama is kneeling and flops over, positioning himself on his hands knees and presenting his body to his new-found lover in all its' glory.

The sound of foil tearing pierces the silence of the room and Kaneki tenses on reflex, bracing himself on the headboard, palms flat on the smooth wood. The weight of Tsukiyama's body falls against him, chest lined to his back and hands splaying wide over his hips, his fingers slick with lube. One hand trails down to his ass, slaps a cheek teasingly before those fingers are massaging him, working him open for the second time. Tsukiyama sinks his index finger in about knuckle deep and roots around, pressing deeper in his search for that special place Kaneki knows will have him crying out Tsukiyama's name. A second finger joins the first and leaves Kaneki feeling uncomfortably full, a sensation that is quickly dulled by the slide of Tsukiyama's cock along the underside of his own. Bucking back, Kaneki lowers a hand to circle around them, stroking the overheated skin and latex and making both of them give soft croons of approval while Tsukiyama scissors Kaneki's tight entrance and plunges both fingers deep and crooks, dragging the pads of his digits over the prostate.

Kaneki all but screams, his moan so high and drawn out. Tsukiyama laughs appreciatively in his ear, repeating the action and rocking his hips forward in tandem to further stimulate both their firm arousals still trapped in Kaneki's grasp. “ _Relâcher_ , Kaneki-kun," he whispers hotly, nipping at the supple part of his ear.

Kaneki gasps, pushes back onto those divine fingers, and clenches his muscles around them to stall Tsukiyama's movement. "Quit teasing and fuck me, _now_." His tone is breathless and demanding despite the cherried blush that brands him, leaving him thankful that his face is currently hidden.

With a hum and a kiss to his inflamed cheek, Tsukiyama pulls away and retracts his fingers and knocks away Kaneki's hand from their cocks to position his exactly where they both want it. He uses the lube to slick the condom a little more and mercilessly drags the head along the crease of Kaneki's ass, teasing his hole a little more and delighting in the shudder and groan Kaneki responds with. Tsukiyama lines up and smooths his free hand down his partner's spine in the same instant he shoves in, moans filling the air.

He fucks Kaneki without remorse, driving into him in sharp thrusts that assault his prostate relentlessly with his hands like iron vices clamped to his hips to pull him close. All Kaneki can manage to do is close his eyes and tear apart his throat with the volume of noise he makes, urging Tsukiyama to go deeper, harder, rougher. He revels in the feeling of being thoroughly taken and filled, his dick splattering trails of precum on the sheets below. Nails bite into his skin and he hisses, his own fingers tightening around the curved rail of his headboard and ignoring the bruising their taking as it thuds against the wall with every motion.

The pressure and heat in his stomach collide, spiralling into each other and burning him with a pleasure so fierce it has him buckling and dropping his hands to the mattress and twisting in the blankets as he buries his face in a pillow. He's never been treated so brutally in bed, his past short string of lovers thinking him too weak and frail to take such fast paced fucking regardless of how he asked or begged. Kaneki is thankful to Tsukiyama for giving him precisely what he's always wanted -- equal grounds in terms of the bedroom. Thankful and more than willing to return the favour whenever the other wants.

The rapture begins to close in, his body stuttering to keep up as everything around him falls away to nothing but the feel of Tsukiyama filling his ass, the sounds and scent of sex heavy in the air, and his own voice sounding hoarse as he calls out. "Shuu! Shuu – mmf – oh – ohhh right there – hnng yes!"

Tsukiyama seems able to make sense of the babble, senses how close to that tantalising precipice Kaneki truly is, and reaches down to tug on his cock. He leans in close to Kaneki and licks a hot trail from the side of his neck up to his ear and commands him, "Cum for me, _chéri_."

Kaneki gives one last cry and his world slants sideways, static filling his vision as thick ribbons of white drips between Tsukiyama's fingers and makes a mess of his bed, his muscles constricting tightly before going completely lax as he falls forward. Tsukiyama isn't long behind, his whine echoing in Kaneki's fuzzy mind in the moments after when the man is collapsed against him, sweat sealing their bodies together.

Slowly and gently, he pulls out of Kaneki and ties off the condom and leaves the bed. He's gone for a couple of minutes and Kaneki can hear him tinkering around in the kitchen – the tell-tale sounds of cabinets creaking open and falling shut, the tap turning on – and then he's back, brandishing a wet towel and glass of water that he offers up with a lazy grin. Kaneki accepts it gratefully, gulping half of it down before returning it to Shuu so he can do the same. Tsukiyama then cleans them both up with the rag, going so far as to scrub the evidence of what they'd just done from the blankets, and rejoins Kaneki in bed and wraps himself around him quietly, contentedly.

In the hazy moments before sleep subdues him, Kaneki thinks he should definitely thank Touka and the others for being such nosy friends.


	10. Tactile - Utakane

It takes months of being all but ambushed with Uta’s kind and curious hands, weeks of deliberation and contemplation over whether or not the touching feels nice or not.

Kaneki eventually comes to realise that while he may not need the slide of Uta’s calloused fingertips smoothing indeterminable patterns along the expanse of his side, hip, or back; Uta does. 

Kaneki understands, more than probably anybody else ever could. He knows that Uta’s strong and resilient and that the days in his past are just as dark and overturned as Kaneki’s seemingly doomed future. He knows Uta can take care of himself should the need arise, but Kaneki also understands that Uta is a caregiver just as equally.

More than that, Uta needs to be reassured just as anyone else trying to struggle through the heinous times that have encroached upon them all. Kaneki feels that same need and itch in the palm of his hands as well, the want to tether himself to a person through touch alone - to have comfort while also providing it and to just feel alive, even if only in small moments that pass by in the span of seconds.   

His own comfort is put at stake in the beginning, when his muscles still reflexively tense whenever hands are laid against him for fear of being inflicted with some manner of pain, his mind still held in the twisted, tainted claws of Yamori's birdcage. Still, for Uta, he learns to trust and register that the touches given to him by the mask master are sweet and not altogether innocent, but harmless just the same. Kaneki trains himself as though he’s bulking up for battle rather than for cuddles and eventually the fruits of both his and Uta’s joint patience bloom and blossom in the freedom that now encompasses them at night. 

His favourite times are after they’ve spent the last hour rutting against each other in frustration and pent up aggression; their joint desperation coming upon them in relentless whirls of tattered clothing and sharp inhales. When the air is thick, heady with the scent of them blanketing over the calm of Uta’s studio, that’s when kaneki most enjoys the skate of hands up and along his thigh, over the jut of his hip (to which Uta remarks a huffed out ‘cute’ that has Kaneki’s face flaming brilliantly), and the enticing circle of strong arms looping around his shoulders to hold him. 

It’s in those moments that Kaneki will let slip the tight grip he holds on his mind, and allow himself to marvel at the development between himself and Uta. He wonders if he’s in love with him, wonders if he can even believe in something as sweet and infallible in such a cruel, fucked up world.

For Uta, Kaneki thinks he wants to believe in it. 


End file.
